this is Salem, a land filled with magic and maladies. It is a place where witches and their elemental familiars gather, a home to legend and
lore that predates time itself. Yet of all the wicked and wonderful stories the past can tell us of, the most magical are the ones yet to happen.
This is Salem - this is the start of your very own journey. Welcome to starfall
Starfall is an animaga witch roleplay set in mostly modern times. Members play as witches in a world plagued by monsters, where the only safe spots are walled cities. Starfall strives to be a character-driven roleplay with expansive lore and a highly interactive plotline. We want to allow members to
create and look back on a magical journey, and mold the site and its plot as their characters grow.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown yet longed for still.
there was something in this buiding that emitted power in the way that her grace medeia trevil's gardens coud only dream of.
that flight of fancy, that fast-fading and nowhere-leading desire had taken her here. she was certain of it: coincidence did not exist. even when she had taken up the idea of being a reader without reading the address, she was certain that she had consciously been acting upon a magnetic pull that only the corner of her eyes had seen.
she was thinking too much. this job ought to put her out of her thinking.
she turned at the place that had been marked in her map (a carefully laid out piece of paper that she had constructed herself with ink and thought) and then she knocked on the door of the specified room. when welcomed and not before, she pushed the door open and entered the room.
she had her own aura- the aura of thick scarves and candles and fresh books (probably because she was carrying the later in a little knapsack strapped across her shoulders). she scented the room in the soft fragrance of her own personal mix of cosmetics and smells, the kind that you crafted without knowing you had.
she was quiet, but there was something alive in her eyes as she said, with the sincerity almost never expected of the word,: "hello!"
Post by saskia burovski on Aug 20, 2017 3:48:42 GMT
she supposes that there are things to be said about people who consider the keep their home -- a silver monolith of downtown sundial, every inch as imposing as its title would suggest. she does not know where she stands in relations to her coven mates; powerful, ruthless witches ( she cannot hate them for their actions, not really ). she considers the notion of standing among them -- next to her brother -- an equal; she doesn't know what she feels about that.
then her breath trips over itself, her lungs stutter, and she dismisses the dream as she always does. i'm okay, she tells luci, the bear tucked against her legs, a giant swathe of white fur that takes up most of the space on the couch. a paw hangs down lazily, brushing against the carpet as the familiar adjusts her position to regard the girl suspiciously, then resumes dozing.
there is a knock on the door, and saskia responds accordingly -- a bell-like chime of, "come in!" -- and she watches, eyes wide with anticipation, as the door swings open. there is something about the way light dances in the dark-haired woman's eyes that reminds saskia of sunrise over a still lake.
she smiles, a gentle curve telling of a reserved, but earnest nature. "hello!" her eyes drift to the little knapsack, and there is a sudden anticipation that grips her. luci opens an eye to regard the newcomer, an ear flicking in acknowledgement. "please, make yourself comfortable."
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown yet longed for still.
a red-haired maiden rests soundly on the surface of the bed, yet yvella's eyes are drawn instead to the familiar at her legs- the flicker of the ear and the motion in the eyes keep her on alert. danger, danger, her mind screams. she, however, has learned to dismiss all instinct by instinct.
so there is no shift in pace: the click-clack of her heels is ever rhythmic, ever slow.
"oh, thank you," she says, and a hand slips behind her ear to fix unruly raven curls. the gesture is modest, but the fluidity of its motion suggests something else. her knees bend and she finds a seat next to the bed. every thing about her is slow and paced out, so it's a moment before her eyes lift upwards again and she smiles as she catches on to the deep reds of her client's.
"saskia was it? i feel like i've seen your face before." she's generally more sheepish and less chatty, but it's easier with younger people. this saskia must be at her sister's age. she shakes her head a wordless 'forget it' as she turns to her knapsack and reveals two novellas.
"sorry; i didn't know what you liked. i picked mystery though. it's usually the genre for everyone, isn't it?" her tone is agreeable and empathetic, but there's also something vaugely musical about the way she speaks. "a lone hero against twists and turns and in the end, light piercing through dark-- ah. i think i'm getting carried away, ahaha."
Post by saskia burovski on Aug 31, 2017 13:35:53 GMT
she cannot help but feel at ease -- every movement of the golden-eyed woman is calm and smooth ( she is immediately reminded of the tranquility of still water surfaces, and the fluid grace of felines ).
an inquisitive tilt of the head, and she frowns slightly in thought. "i don't believe we've met before," she says, though there is uncertainty wrought in her features -- perhaps she had forgotten something? then the woman dismisses it with a shake of her head and saskia settles back down, mirrors the sentiments and brushes the thought away. and almost immediately, she leans forward again, eyes bright with excitement as yvella pulls two novellas.
"oh, it definitely is," she confirms, and is almost immediately entranced by the words that follow ( the words twist their own path into the sky, a road half-lit and ripe with adventure ). her hands flutter to rest on her lap, and at this point, even the bear seems to be listening intently. "please, continue."
